What Remains of Freedom
by adele4
Summary: Set at the beginning of the AE arc. There's nothing left of Kisara but the dragon and a rest of awareness, and Seto Kaiba is quite oblivious to the latter. In her isolation, she turns to an old acquaintance for support.
1. Deux vieux amis

_What remains of freedom_

**A.N.:**

This is a continuation of my fic "_Evasions_". It's _supposed_ to work on its own too, but some of Kisara's thoughts (and the fact the two of them even know each other) make more sense when you've read that story...

All Memory-world stuff is anime-based. Reference to more ancient events will be partly manga-based; the existence of the Doma-arc will be ignored ('cause I have seen way to little of it. Not that lots of other things won't be ignored as well, so chances are no-one would have noticed anyway, but since the filler arcs, just like Kisara's thoughts, are all about Kaiba, I thought I should mention it.)

This is set after the dark alley scene between Yami Bakura and Yugi. However, after it, they both went _home_, and _time passed_.

Chapter title means "two old friends", and is the title of a chapter in Dumas' "Le Vicomte de Bragelonne" _(which, incidentally, is so the best book ever, OMG!)_, namely the one in which Aramis and the Duchesse de Chevreuse meet again after many years. Not that it's really fair to compare Kisara to either of these two.

There will be three chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh or any of its characters.

/A.N.

**Deux vieux amis**

It was a dark night.

Nights were, by definition, dark, or at least they were here in Domino city, which didn't happen to lay anywhere close to a pole any more than Egypt – well, it _was_ closer to the pole than Thebes, but...

It didn't matter. The darkness shouldn't matter to her at all.

The fact remained that it was, all in all, a really dark night.

If she was naive, she could put the fault on the closeness of new moon – she'd seen the thin golden crescent peer out from behind heavy clouds earlier – and the bad weather. But in truth, she knew very well her sight would not be as drastically affected by exterior factors as – lake of light. The truth was that she shouldn't have slipped away like this, shouldn't have allowed herself this vulnerability – at least she supposed it was, for it was how it was feeling, what else would have caused her to suddenly notice the darkness? – and, most important, she shouldn't have deserted _him_, even so briefly, even when sure to remain undetected...

How little things changed in three thousand years. How much more she knew, now, and yet-

And yet, she was repeating the past.

Back then, she didn't now better, so she told herself. She'd been naive, she'd been isolated, and no-one had bothered telling her the truth or let her find out for herself.

She had lost her way a few times, in the small streets she had thought she would know well enough now, but she had calculated her travelling time generously, and she was not standing in front of the high building later than she had thought she would.

After all those years, she had not yet managed to get used to how large everything was; and she knew that she would never get used to those high buildings that left only such a little space in-between, and blocked out the sky.

But she had to. She didn't _need_ the sky.

Didn't need to look up at it from far beyond when _he_ had mastered it without her help.

It wasn't even one of the larger houses, it had only five floors; on the fourth floor, light came from behind closed blinds, and she thought she could see a human form move behind.

He was living on the third floor: the small spaces on which the names were inscribed seemed to glimmer at her tauntingly, refusing to be as dark as the surroundings, shining in a warm yellow light that was strong enough to illuminate part of that wall around it. She had the impression that it was stronger than the street lamps on the way, but she supposed she was fooling herself.

It was, unexplainably, the same name. She couldn't pretend innocence to herself. There were more warnings than needed.

She pressed her lips together, sighed, and finally decided to walk upstairs: the faintly illuminated staircase in its peaceful, unchanging setting, exactly the same over three floors gave the brief journey an odd, surreal feel. She didn't think the way would be so long...

And yet, she was standing on front of the door sooner than she was prepared for: she would have liked to stop for a moment, to recollect herself, but a new impatience stopped her from it. Instead, she opened her mouth as if to take a deep breath, and, literally, stepped through the door.

The blinds were only half-closed, and the light from the street lamps outside was just enough to let her guess the meaning of the forms that were surrounding her. She looked around, made a step forward, suddenly timid, feeling like an intruder, not to him, but to the one whose apartment this really was, and whom, if she was honest, she hadn't taken into account at all.

She had, though until now she's never, even in thoughts, put it into such clear words, doubted his very existence, taking the boy who'd had a life before having the ring and was still existing, for a lure of the thief, maybe because it had made things easier.

But only looking around in the small apartment was enough to definitely convince her this could not be Bakura's doing, that someone else must have set all this up, curtains before the windows a vase on the clean table wood figurines on a cupboard...

She had thought about turning back, but now here she was, in what was the boy's bedroom; she froze where she was in the middle of the room, the soft breathing of a sleeping human being the only sound around her. Far away, a car passing on the street, its light briefly flashing up. Silence. Wooden dolls, fluff animals, many books on a bookshelf that covered almost a whole wall, clothes carelessly thrown on the floor, all of it small, cosy almost, and personal.

"Kisara."

She turned round.

And there he was, standing in front of the door through which she'd entered, very dark, completely black seeming eyes looking straight at her, shadowed even more by the long white hair that framed his face; pale skin, not an illusion created by the spirit form, not a single scar. He was wearing, if it could be called that, the same blue and white t-shirt and blue jeans than at battle city.

That would teach her to try to take a thief by surprise.

She couldn't see the expression in his eyes, different eyes than those she knew, not of a stone-like, hard and immutable grey, but of a plain, warm brown colour, and, now at least, very dark and deep. Slowly, she turned back to the sleeping boy, as if to assure herself he was still there, before looking back at the spirit.

The latter raised his head a little, so his face became, freed of the hair, a little more visible, and made a step in her direction.

Instinctively, she stepped backwards, then stopped, to study him again. She's never really had the occasion to, had only seen him through brief glimpses, had never had a chance to find out if he was aware of her. He was, she thought, a little less tall than the Thief King had been, very thin and less maculated , and the air of danger that was still surrounding him was different, a less powerful, more insidious feeling...

"What, pray tell, are you doing here?"

It was the same voice, she was certain of that, but back then it had never sounded so smooth to her, so strangely drawling. He was smiling slightly, in a pleasant way.

_Three thousand years._

She'd had her moment of powerful heroism, and before a real life – in between, there were the anxious hours in the prison, and after all of it, this phantom life, another isolation.

And again, there was Bakura.

Strangely enough, the nights during which the thief had visited her had remained, over the years of aloneness, her most vivid memory. Or, at least, he'd stated out in those memories like no other person did, not even Seto. Seto, she though, whom she'd met only a few times in her life, to whom she'd never been able to talk, unlike the thief who's listened to her for many hours he should be far away fighting. Seto, whom she loved deeply anyway, or for exactly that reason.

She was surprised by the ease with which she responded:

"Coming to see you..."

She let the phrase open, as if she might add something.

The smile remained, but through narrowed eyes, he threw her a sharp, calculating glance, and she reminded herself to be careful: this was not the thief she had known. This was someone different, who had been locked away – or, maybe, even lived – for thousand of years, someone who's carried on the fight after her death, after his own... A dark spirit who'd chased the pharaoh with terrible patience and persistence, and who had managed to master those shadows...

Not that trusting the thief she'd known would have been any safer. Not until...

She shouldn't have come so unprepared. But she'd been invisible for so long...

The smile changed into a mocking sneer as he answered, clearly showing he was not believing that she just came for a chat. As if the idea was all that absurd. She was lone, after all, very, very lone.

"I'm... flattered?"

She looked away, her own lips twitching slightly, compelled to mimic his expression, for some reason, maybe for the pleasure of being noticed. She wondered what she looked like to him: she hadn't changed, of course, frozen in this appearance of a young, frail girl with a dragon for all times. She had abounded the rag she'd kept together with her appearance for so long, it seemed absurd after a while, and had replaced it with a white t-shirt and a black skirt that was falling a little over her knees.

"I've wanted to talk to..." she hesitated. "Someone."

Despite of herself, she dropped her gaze when, as she looked back up, he hadn't moved at all, was still staring as if he could drain her of her thoughts.

"I see." Her head snapped up. He seemed to think for a moment, before he added, in the same tone: "Please, be my guest."

She blinked. Only now, she became aware he'd been blocking the door the whole time, and only now moved away from it. Not that he could have locked her in, even if he had wanted to, but the fact he was moving away, and sitting down on the edge of the bed took away the impression of a dangerous confrontation between enemies that had met on the spot. He motioned a chair with his head; she hesitantly made a few steps towards it, then stopped and looked back at him. His face didn't show anything, as he still eyed her intensely.

"Thank you."

She looked out of the window: the situation was oddly similar, that enveloping darkness spoiled only by the never changing light of the street lamps far bellow. It was a nice room, different from all those she had seen in Seto's house, even Mokuba's that was stuffed with playthings, from fluff-animals to high-tech products that were most certainly not meant for a child.

"How do they live with it?" she murmured.

He raised an eyebrow, that obviously wasn't something he'd been expecting, and it seemed to her as if there was true emotion in his voice this time, a little irritation, when he asked:

"What do you mean?"

"The light. They always seem to have light." She stopped. Sound as well, seemed to be so constantly present, but she's learned to fear silence.

Bakura's lips curled again, as if her words contained a joke she wasn't aware of herself.

"I guess. But there are compensations."

"I know..." she murmured. Towers that defied the sky, aeroplanes, computers, very real secrets hidden in small medallions... artificial, to everybody visible images of the creatures ripped from humans' souls...

"What _are_ you doing here, dragon-girl?" He was losing his patience, the friendly mask slowly wearing off, though he still smiled creepily pleasantly. "Switching sides? Might be a little _late_ for that, hm?"

Had she not been angered by his words, she might have paid more attention to the emotion they seemed at least to hint.

"I'm not."

She'd not betray _him_, never, that much she knew now, if nothing else. Even better now that she sometimes doubted he deserved such loyalty (but she was lying to herself in her bitterness, he'd never given anything but devotion, and could neither deserve nor accept less).

She could have pointed out, she thought, that he'd never offered it this way back then, that he could hardly blame her for having refused – was it what it came down to, to chose a side, had it been that simple and she'd exaggerated its meaning? Caught between forbidden love for a dangerous and yet close outlaw while loyal to a just and unreachable noble, simple old clichéd overdone story, not matter from which side one looked at it, it never ceased to be banal and true.

"Then why are you here now?"

"I need your help in something." _And I wanted to see you_, she added silently, the thought appearing in her mind in unexpected clearness. Of course she's wanted to see him. Even if he had been any random person from the same time as her, she would have whished to speak to him at some point.

Odd how much easier it was to say the first phrase than the second. Not stirring up old wounds. She might have had another choice back then – the past was gone.

Same feeling of simplicity and banality. Love. Simple sincere love, or at least the memory of it. She was more disconnected from the dragon than ever before – did anything she might do count still?

Bakura didn't answer, and Kisara suddenly wondered about the "now" he'd added to the question: was it a slip and could it mean that if she had come sooner...?

"Really?" was finally all he said, in a perfectly even voice. She had the feeling he would bust out laughing anytime.

"I need to talk to Seto... Kaiba."

The hesitation before the second, the stolen name was minuscule, but she's said them in the wrong order and he noticed anyway, she was certain. It didn't matter: it couldn't surprise him that it still made her uncomfortable, and saying only Seto would have created an intimacy that would have felt – treacherous.

She couldn't tell towards whom.

Again, a long silence followed, as Kisara decided not to ask further until he said something.

"You want me to pass a message," he finally conceded to remark.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, beginning to be irritated with his calm, though she wasn't sure what she'd expected. If she'd thought he could harm her, she wouldn't have come.

"If that is the only way, yes."

"I see." A pause. He looked at her with a curiosity that was somehow easier to bear than the friendliness, because it seemed less fake. "What do you want me to tell him, then?"

That seemed a little too easy.

"Will you bring him the message?" she asked.

He smirked, leaned back a little, clearly pleased.

"No," he admitted calmly.

There was no answer to that: she should have known, name of the gods!

Bakura watched her reaction and went on in one breath:

"What do you _want_ me to do? Run to the high priest, tell him of his ancient past, pass him a love letter you wrote, tell him the white dragon will desert him if he doesn't do everything to revive the one whose soul it is?" He laughed out harshly, but his voice hold a hint of genuine interest, as he went on: "Why come to me? Why not seek help in the pharaoh?"

He smirked. She supposed he found the idea of the pharaoh telling Seto Kaiba he had a message from the white dragon for him amusing...

She didn't answer, but she shuddered despite of herself. The pharaoh was – in another sphere, had nothing to do with this, didn't know her. And he had no knowledge, no memory. Why would _he_ believe her?

"_What_ do you want to tell him? And..." He paused. "What makes you think he'd listen to anything?"

She made a movement, as if to stop his next words from coming, but he went on:

"Because-" He narrowed his eyes at her. "– you _know_ he won't. You know perfectly well he wouldn't have three thousand years ago, and that he won't now. Do you really think he doesn't believe what the pharaoh tells him about his past? He does. He's seen the evidence. He's no such fool. But why concede to remember something that would bring you into an inferior position? Of course he'd believe you. I can give you a way to show him. He won't want to know. He won't listen to anything you say. You don't matter. He has the dragon now. _You've stopped to exist_."

"He..." She made a step back, a little shocked, not as much by the words, even though they hurt, but by his vindictive demeanour. "He could remember..."

"Remember what? Do you think he'd have done anything else, back in Egypt? He _hunted down_ the cards, didn't he? What is there that Akunadin wouldn't have done as well ?"

His eyes seemed to glitter, and again, they reminded her of Akunadin himself. It was one of the worse things, possibly the worst, he could say about Seto, and they both knew it. She didn't manage to bring up anger inside her. She felt the unfairness of both of their situation, much sharper than back when she's been alive, when the order of things, in which Seto, the priest, had the power to save or destroy her seemed, not fair, but normal, but natural; as well as the impossibility for the pharaoh to by the one to give up and seek forgiveness first.

Not that Bakura would have accepted such a thing. Not that he was any different now, that the power had shifted to his side, and this time he was the one who would refuse any sort of reconciliation, and feel he had the right to it.

But Seto... Seto had saved her, had spared her, had risked everything to save a single person.

But this was not Seto, as much as she wished to think so. This was him, with another, a worse past, a past less surrounded by mystery than the first one, in which secret guardians (if they could be called that) had been looking out for him, evening him the way for a faith greater than what he wished to accept. But in this life, there was no mystery, no hidden identity, no revelation of royal blood in the veins of that orphan child. In this life he too, had stolen, rather than earned, everything he had, had been forced to be sharply awake for every minute, and no white dragon had appeared in the sky to blast his enemies when he would have needed it. Not until he had conquered it himself.

And while this wasn't true, while she had given herself to him, for all future lives, forever, while those dragons had been his right to possess, he didn't know any of this.

Mokuba had given him the first card. Mokuba had been the reason why he'd accepted to go through so much and who had kept him alive, and maybe human, through it the way.

And she couldn't help feel both grateful and jealous.

And she wanted to meet himor to have him hear her voice, at least once.

Bakura was waiting, smiling, and her heart arched at the sight. She'd lost Bakura, she couldn't get back to that, there was no connection left...

Maybe she should have sought help in the pharaoh instead. If there was any affection for her left in him, her action was cruel. And in a way, she was taking advantage of that.

"He's not like Akunadin," she murmured. "He's not ambitious like he was – he's not – everything he does, he doesn't do for himself. He's protecting his brother."

Bakura smiled. It was a quite creepy sight. He looked as if he had just drawn an unstoppable card in a duel against Yugi Motou.

"Akunadin was his father," he said.

Her eyes widened. Akunadin – of course, that was why, instead of attacking him... But that _wasn't_!...

"You didn't know?" He started to laugh. "Do you even have any idea why you died?"

She recollected herself quickly. The revelation might have been important back in Egypt – but then, she could have done nothing of it, how was the fight between the priests and who they really were any of her business? – but now, it didn't seem to matter all that much. Bakura could draw any strange parallels between Seto and anyone, and she should know better than to fall for it.

"Do you have any idea why _you_ died?" she asked.

"_I_," Bakura drawled, and she could see a faint glimmer come from where the boy was laying – from the ring, she understood, "am not dead."

She bit her lips.

"It... the differences are evened out. It's thousand of years and maybe countless reincarnations ago. It doesn't matter anymore, now."

"Doesn't it?" He seemed animated again, now. "Is there nothing _left_ of it?" He laughed and went on in one breath: "Kaiba has been allowed to deny everything of the past and have a fresh start. The pharaoh has had three thousand years of blissful sleep and now a host who's willing to help him... Now, look at _you_." His tongue flipped over his lips briefly, and his voice softened. "How is that fair? How has there been a change to the way things have been?"

"What about you?" she asked again.

"Me? I have nothing that I haven't stolen. And if-"

He stopped suddenly, the animated, somewhat smug expression disappeared form his face, changed to alert; automatically, she tensed up, as if there was still anything she could fear.

"What...?"

She froze when she felt, rather then saw, the body of the boy – she'd almost forgotten him – moved, and watched in strange fascination when his eyes, of the same colour as Bakura's were now, blinked open sleepily, peered around the room, seemed to rest on her, but that had to be an illusion. Then the boy pushed himself up by an elbow. Bakura had turned towards him as well, looking, as far as Kisara could tell, irritated.

"Dark..." the boy murmured.

At first, Kisara thought he meant the oppressive darkness she had felt so strongly when coming towards the apartment; but a moment later, she understood that it was his way of calling Bakura.

"Go back to sleep," the spirit snapped, a dangerous edge to his voice.

The boy didn't seem to notice, or decided to ignore it. He sat up completely, and blinked at her.

"Dark," he repeated, and now his sleepy gaze seemed to focus at last. "Who is this?"

Kisara's eyes widened, she didn't notice the way Bakura tensed; she stared back at the boy in amazement. It couldn't be...

"You can see me..." she whispered.

Bakura had caught himself while, in her surprise, she had paid no attention to him, and he did, again, seem nothing but detached as he remarked sarcastically:

"It would be pointless to have a conversation in which one of the parties can't see or hear one of the others."

Kisara turned her gaze away from to boy and towards him with difficulty, strangely entranced – it was like seeing a ghost, only the other way round.

"Is this your doing?" she asked suspiciously.

The thief merely shrugged, his attention focussed on the boy beside him, who looked back at him with an unreadable expression, and Kisara felt a sudden jolt of jealousy at the intimacy the look seemed to bear, as if a secret communication passed between them, only through the eyes.

Bakura was right: it wasn't fair.

"Someone from the past," Bakura said in an oddly soft voice; Kisara jumped, didn't instantly realise it was an answer to the boy's question. "Be quiet."

"Bakura Ryou," Kisara murmured, tasting out the name she couldn't recall knowing, not the first name, until she had been reading it at the door.

"A spirit," Ryou murmured, looking at her again, with a strangely longing expression, before forcing his eyes back on the ring spirit. "Another item?"

Bakura snorted, but didn't bother to answer: apparently, he had decided that once he'd told his host to be silent, anything he now said could be considered inexistent. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"So, what you want _is_ a meeting with Seto Kaiba, correct?"

She thought for a moment. The wish alone was simple enough.

"Yes."

"Very well. I might be able to arrange that..."

* * *

_I hope this does make a reasonable amount of sense. __I'm thinking that Kisara might have become a little bitter in this situation, but I'm not really too happy with her voice.  
_

_ There will be further explanations to why she's there, and what's possessing Bakura to be so conciliating by the end of the chapter later. _

_Please tell me what you think?_


	2. Green eyed white dragon

_What remains of freedom, chapter two_

**AN:**

Many thanks for the reviews!

Chapter title is what Hong Kong subs occasionally call the BEWD in the episode during which this takes place. The next chapter will have a title that makes more sense (nod).

I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, or any of its characters

/AN

* * *

**Green-eyed white dragon**

She remained where she was as he stood up and walked over to the bureau on the other side of the room, and continued to stare at the spot he had left, or, rather, at the young mortal who was still sitting there. She couldn't see Ryou's eyes, hidden as they were by the long hair; only the way his fingers were, very slightly, clenching and relaxing around the bed sheets could be an indication he was possibly nervous – until it was only that, a nervous gesture of habit.

"First," Bakura said, turning away from where he was standing, and leaned over the bureau. "Tell me when you first – reappeared, were conscious of yourself. You can't have been all the time," he added, as her eyes widened at that.

"How do you know?"

"You've come to me because of my knowledge. I'd assume you expected me to actually have it..."

Ryou seemed to tense, his hand reached up to the ring.

"... could you think, feel, walk, back there, right after your death?"

She slowly shook her head.

"I..." She couldn't remember! "I had moments of consciousness, but never – nothing like this. Nothing _but_ consciousness."

Bakura nodded.

"And then?"

The answer appeared very clearly. Of course she knew. Of course, it was obvious.

"When Seto first called the blue eyes ultimate dragon," she murmured.

_When they'd first been merged together..._

Bakura, who'd been staring at her intensely through his long bangs, leaned backwards with a smile.

"I see," he murmured.

He seemed amused, for some reason, and she briefly looked at Ryou again, as if hoping to get help from him, but the boy was staring straight in front of himself and didn't seem to notice.

In a way, she was connected to all those three dragons – it had taken that much to call her back from death.

_Four dragons_, a treacherous voice in her mind murmured. _Four, not three._

For many days of her monotonous existence, she had wondered about the meaning of that fourth dragon, so much more now that he was destroyed. What could, did it mean?

Because she knew of the meaning of the other three: the first one was, always was her, her very soul, the finally awoken splendid beast she had given to him; the second one was created from the pharaoh's priest's heart to match her force after both of their acceptance; the third one was born to the will of the man whose stolen name still pained her whenever it appeared in her thoughts, with a sort of horrified fascination.

Those were the three he could merge to one, her, the priest and _him_, who was the priest and was not, reminded of him in every gesture, and yet fiercely refused this heritage.

What had the forth one been? Seto's future, a third person to be bound to them...

... a promise for her own future?

Or some perverted game, a lunatic idea created by Maximilian Pegasus?

Seto Kaiba had ripped the card apart with his own hands: had taken the card he loved most, he'd longed for for so long, and had destroyed it. There had been no hesitation, no temptation to keep it save and locked away under glass... He'd kept the three dragon he would keep for his fights, and had destroyed the forth one.

And she would never know.

She brushed the thought aside, feeling it was dangerous to let herself go like this in front of the thief, even if only in thoughts...

"Why?" she asked.

Bakura shook his head, as if he had asked the question for no particular reason, and it actually was unimportant, and went on:

"You know that the pharaoh is about to regain his memory?"

She nodded: if she had to be sincere, this realisation had been what had brought her to come see him in the first place, the sudden realisation that it might all be over, somehow. She had no hope to be freed from her ghost-existence, and she had no particular bound to the former pharaoh – but he still was what kept all of them linked together: she and Bakura were just escapees, some lose ends in the greater scheme of things, and once he was gone – and that was what it all was about – they would have no reason left to exist as they did. Bakura might manage to continue anyway – but she...

It felt as if this would be her last chance, before everything fell into place, or apart, and Seto Kaiba could definitely move on and forget his previous life and his fights with the spirit.

"The keeper revealed the last secret he needed," she added, "and the pharaoh will enter the world of his own memory."

Bakura nodded, didn't seem surprised she knew that much. Seto had left before the secret had been revealed, and she had never seen the marks on the keepers back; but it was no mystery that the pharaoh was fighting to find this memory only Malik could give to him.

"Yes... But it's not that simple. If he was the only survivor, it would be, but – this is my memory as well."

"What do you mean?"

"The pharaoh _and_ I will enter the world of _our_ memory – to finish the fight we have started."

"But..." She paused, to think, and figure out which one of the many questions she should ask first. "_You_ have your memory."

She had the feeling it was the right remark, because Bakura didn't answer right away; he seemed to be the one wondering what exactly he should tell her now.

"You should talk to Yugi."

Both of them had already almost forgotten they weren't alone, and they looked at Ryou who'd spoken that last sentence; the empty stare was gone from his eyes, his gaze focused again, and his voice firm.

"No..." Kisara murmured.

Ryou gave her a surprised glance, before smiling lightly, as if bemused by her reaction.

"I doubt the pharaoh would be of much help here," Bakura snapped.

"Not him. Yugi."

He was still looking at Kisara, pleadingly now, and she felt guilty for not complying right away.

"He can't see me."

"_I_ can."

"But that's..."

She looked at Bakura, who was fixing Ryou with an expression she couldn't read. He might have been lying, of course.

"We don't know," Ryou said calmly, as if Bakura wasn't even here. "It's worth a try."

Bakura folded his arms.

"You're free to go run to the pharaoh, but _my_ help offer becomes void if you do."

There _had_ been a positive help offer then? She couldn't remember him saying so. Only that it might be possible.

Maybe Ryou was right: maybe she should contact the pharaoh, tell him what Bakura had just said, or just forget about it, and go back the Seto and the dragon cards so the mist in front of her inexistent eyes would vanish, and let things pass...

"You haven't offered anything," she reminded him, softly.

"Ah – and I won't offer to _grant_ you anything. But I'm offering you a bargain."

She glanced at Ryou: the boy was silent now, so that she briefly wondered if Bakura had put a spell on him, but was staring at her, fearful now.

She shook her head slowly. It was a strangely painful gesture. Three thousand years ago, she had also refused, and back then, at least she had known why: she couldn't betray Seto. But this was only a fight against the pharaoh, and...

... and it wasn't, had never been. Bakura revenge extended further than that, to all Egypt, and more...

"You might want to listen to me. You can still refuse."

"I have nothing to offer," she said.

Bakura smiled again, creepily.

"You would think so, or you wouldn't be here."

She tensed. His eyes seemed human all the sudden, and not the least bit less frightening than before, and she was reminded of the way he had looked at her back in Egypt, like he wanted something, and she'd never been able to figure out what, and she never would, because even if she got an answer from _him_, this was not Bakura – not the same. She should not let the parallelism of the situation get her.

"What do you want?"

He leaned back against the bureau.

"You were wrong earlier. I don't have all of my past memories any more than the pharaoh. Or, Seto."

Her eyes widened.

"How is that possible? You can..."

"I can remember you, of course, and some of the past events of the first fight." Again, his eyes seemed to glitter darkly. "After all I – " He interrupted himself, briefly glanced at Ryou. "_We _have built the setting for the second one. It's only fair we get a head start."

(Ryou had his arms crossed over his chest. His lips were trembling.)

"Why," she began, with the first question that crossed her mind immediately. "Why do you _need_ a second fight?"

She was frightened by the way, even though he didn't move, everything around them seemed to darken.

"Not what I meant. There won't be a second fight. Just – the ending of this one."

She looked him straight into the eyes. Suddenly she knew with certitude he had not been lying: he couldn't remember.

"How would you know?"

Bakura smiled.

"We're both still alive, aren't we?"

She shivered. She had often wondered what he brought him to take revenge on the young pharaoh, who was so completely innocent in the murder of his family and the other inhabitants of his village, and it seemed simple all the sudden, a strange form of justice, no matter what he said. _Their_ victims had been innocent as well.

And, as cruel as that might sound – they'd be dead by now anyway. (As would she, and now she was still, almost alive, to still be on his side, so it had been a good ending after all, it _was_.)

"Then why not keep it at that?" she asked softly.

Bakura just stared at her.

Then he closed his eyes.

She couldn't figure out what he could possibly be thinking.

"I would like to have a word with my host." Bakura's voice again, cold, emotionless. "Would you excuse us for a moment?"

Kisara threw a glance at Ryou, but the boy was looking at Bakura, intensely, eyes faintly narrowed, not afraid anymore, and again, there she had the feeling there was a silent communication passing between the two of them.

Only now, it occurred to her that the ancient thief possibly had no way of actually getting away from her – or, rather, she thought _he_ probably had. His host, who was bound to his physical form, did not.

Bakura, however, didn't wait for a reaction from her, but walked back over to the bed, eyes still locked with Ryou's, and she choose to step away, through the door to the living room, and then further away, to what appeared to be the kitchen, and turned to the window. She was intruding something intimate she had no business in, whatever it was.

The kitchen was even cleaner than the other rooms had been. On the small table, dishes were already ready, prepared for breakfast, and it made her head spin, this display of simple everyday-life.

It had been stupid to even think of talking him out of whatever he was doing, but it had seemed like the only possible thing she could do. Because he was dark and evil and deeply wounded, and she was pure – had been, at least – and good and light and loved him, and it was evident that she'd want to save and convert and help him, had she done nothing in all those years of almost-life than collecting clichés and playing contrary to Seto Kaiba?

Only when she heard Bakura call her, she went back inside; she looked around confused. Bakura was gone. Ryou was still sitting on the bed, his head bowed.

"Bakura?"

First time she said his name, except the one time, and then, she'd meant Ryou; the latter raised his head, and she almost screamed out: dark glistering eyes, wild hair, and a very amused smirk.

"What did you do to him?"

Bakura laughed at that and stood up. She caught herself before she stepped back. Still the same, no scar, no tan, and yet, not Ryou, and she couldn't explain the change. She'd never seen it before, as far as she knew, but there was no way to tell.

"Nothing." He shook his head, walked back over to the bureau. "Don't be stupid. He's the last person you need to be afraid for."

She didn't answer, but she was feeling cold, all the sudden. She'd been thinking, until now, that she was being dragged into whatever fight was going to carry on by her own fault, if at all, and she realised briskly that this wasn't the case. The first battle had affected all Egypt as well.

"All right." Bakura's went on, voice recollected, neutral. "As I said, I do not have all of my memories. However – _you_ have not been sealed away. You can still remember everything. I want your memories, all you have seen or heard, all I have told you. In exchange – I will let you see Seto Kaiba."

"No," she said.

She couldn't tell why she was refusing so straight away. The evident answer would be that she shouldn't, no matter what, give him another advantage over the pharaoh, as poorly inclined she was to take the latter's side (without even knowing who he was, he had saved Seto's _soul_ – but he had done so by shattering it, and she was endlessly grateful but could feel no affection toward him). But maybe it was pride: it didn't feel right that he would bargain her with a meeting with Seto Kaiba. The thief wouldn't have done that.

Bakura studied her face for a moment, before he continued, as if she hadn't said anything.

"The fight between me and the pharaoh will start as soon as he holds the three god cards to a stone panel that the Ishtars will show him in Egypt; it will open the door to – the game that we will use to complete our fight. Do you know how a modern role playing game works?"

She silently shook her head. She didn't think she wanted, should know either, but she didn't leave.

"Doesn't matter. It's quite simple. We will have a game board – a setting of ancient Egypt, as we know it, actually, but that's not of much relevance. Each player will have a certain amount of characters he can control. One of which, on his side, will be the nameless pharaoh. One of which will be the thief king Bakura."

"Seto," she said, despite of herself.

"One of which will be the high priest, obviously, but that, too, is not important now – you shouldn't worry. It won't be _him_. Just a game piece that looks like him.

I can introduce another player inside the game, if you wish me to do so. Or two of them."

"You would put Seto Kaiba inside that game." Her eyes narrowed, something he had maybe never seen her do. "You _won't_ control him."

Bakura impatiently shook his head.

"No – of course not. I can introduce him as a non-player-character. He won't be controlled by anyone but himself. Just as yourself would be."

She didn't answer right away when he explained. A game setting, a game-world that would mirror their own game. Where the thief himself would b – but she shouldn't think of that. Nothing there would be real, except for Seto Kaiba, and Bakura's and the pharaoh's spirit in everything else.

"How can you guaranty me that he won't be in danger?"

She was certain that she had wasted her time when at that, Bakura raised his eyebrows, surprised at that question. She would have thought evident that he knew she would never –

"I'm afraid I can't do that, right now. I can, however, guaranty you he will most certainly not be in more danger than he would be in any case – and that much, I promise." He smirked. "I'm just giving him a chance to actually do something. If I win, it will make no difference in which world he is..." There was a dark mist in the room again, and the ring was glowing. She felt sick, even though she was positively sure that had to be impossible. " This might be your very last chance, Kisara."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Why would you let another opponent enter your game?"

Bakura looked mildly surprised.

"Seto Kaiba is no opponent of mine."

"You think he's egoistic. You think he won't fight you when he finds himself inside your game world."

"He won't even want to believe anything of it is real," Bakura said with a shrug. "What about this, Kisara – I offer you a bet, instead of a bargain; or a shadow game, if you will, over his decision. I will let both of you enter the game world and meet there. If you can convince him to listen to you, to choose your side, to care even the slightest bit – then I won't demand anything on return. Else, you will give me your memories. Sounds fair?"

She pressed her lips together.

"Do you remember Kuru Eruna?" she suddenly asked.

His face didn't change.

"Tell me if you agree. I've lost enough time with this – I can win without your memories."

"What if I do? If I agree – what will you do to him?"

"To him?" Bakura laughed. "You don't have to worry about that. Shadow games have rules – when I promise to do whatever I can to let you meet him, this is a binding contract. And I'm not doing anything against Seto Kaiba. He's of no interest whatsoever for me in this life."

"Answer me."

"It's as I said – I won't do anything to destroy him, and I will _have_ to let you meet, if he chooses to enter – that's part of the game. The rest is up to you, though. You'll have to get him to come to the stone panel in Egypt. If he does, I'll have him dragged into the game. Else..." He shrugged. "You lose nothing. Well?"

Her hearth sank. Of course, Seto would never even go to Egypt. _You'll have to get him to come..._

"I – what? You know I –"

"He has had visions of you, hasn't he?"

"Yes." She paused. "How do you know of that?"

He ignored her question.

"So you still have power over him."

There was something wrong in this phrasing. She didn't have _power over_ Seto Kaiba.

"It wasn't me. They didn't have anything to do with me."

"You were there, were you not?"

"Yes, but –"

"And you saw the visions?"

"Yes." She glared at him. "But from the outside. From – I had no power over them at all."

"You didn't try. I am sure, your presence, and a millennium item as a catalyst would easily be enough to have him get another vision."

"A – "

She stopped as, in answer to the question she was about to ask, he proceeded a small golden orb from the drawer of the bureau, and fury ran through her non-existent body, before she even stopped to wonder how he had gotten hold of it, and what it might mean. _Pegasus_.

Bakura smiled at her, holding the millennium eye between his fingers. The light from the streetlights reflected faintly on the golden surface, making the polished side gleam.

"I shall give this to Kaiba. If he chooses to keep it – I will do my best to have him do so, to have him think of searching for you – you will be able to trigger its power to have him become aware of you, even so little. The rest is then up to you."

He paused.

"But that's details, trust me. Do you want me to try?"

She closed her eyes.

"Yes," she said, and looked back up. "But it won't work."

He smiled.

"Have a little faith."

She shuddered.

_Revenge_, the thief had told her three thousand years ago, revenge, sweet and trilling and – _because_ stolen, not justice, but she wondered if the one who was facing her now even wanted that much, if he was motivated by anything but desire to destroy, and if really he had _forgotten_ his own village!...

* * *

"Show me where Mokuba is," he demanded in a whisper.

It had rained in the meanwhile. When she had left it, she had thought that the high tower had something sinister in this darkness, but now she decided that it also had something beautiful, streams of water still running down its black windows; and the KC sign had never looked as reassuringly familiar.

"Mokuba. Why?"

"Because I need a bait for Kaiba. What did you think?" he added, when he saw Kisara's shocked face. "That I'd just walk up to Kaiba and politely ask him to listen to what I have to tell him? Don't be ridiculous."

"I won't let you near Mokuba," Kisara said blankly, as if surprised he could even have thought such a thing.

"You sound a lot like my host sometimes," the thief said with a sigh. "Look, it's your choice. Don't think I'd not be able to get the boy anyway. But I'm doing this for you."

"No," Kisara repeated, in the same bemused tone. "You failed once," she added, with more force.

"Pity," Bakura murmured, covering her with his glance. "Don't worry about it. Things have changed. I'd hate to lose my current host, now."

"You said you would ask for a duel."

"You don't think Seto Kaiba accepts every single challenge?"

Kisara looked up at the high building in front of them; she knew it by heart, and she could enter every most secured room if she wished to; and it belonged to someone to whom she was connected closer than to anyone else before and later. And yet, once again, she felt small in front of it, as if the heavy betony meant to crush her underneath. She shook her head.

"Fine," Bakura snarled after a moment. "I will find him without help then."

She straightened up, moved as if she could actually stop him, and there was something of the dragon in her attitude, something that did make him stop for a moment.

"You – "

"It is too late to bargain out of this now, dragon-girl."

He moved ahead, almost walked right through her.

She didn't move. She looked after him, without moving, knowing that it would be no use, but this rational realisation didn't keep away the doubt, the rising guilt: what if she could – too late, Bakura had already disappeared – could have done more, realised sooner what he would do... Mokuba who was the one who had, in this life, replaced her – and his country. And his pharaoh. More than she had ever done; could ever have done - yet in this life, she, too, owed Mokuba more than anyone else: he was one who had awoken the dragon his His heart in this time – and through this, was maybe responsible for the incomplete resurrection she went through, allowing him to create the three headed dragon...

If she had put Mokuba into danger she could never forgive herself – but _she _couldn't stop Bakura.

She turned back towards the building. The darkness had vanished, her sigh restored now that she was back closer to him. Of course, he was still working. Even though it was close to the morning already. She would find him.

* * *

_In the anime, when Kaiba calls his ultimate blue eyes white dragon in the memory world, there's one light-ray coming from Kisara, one from priest Seto, and Kaiba is the one joining them, suggesting that while the first one resides in her, the second one is Seto's and the third one might be Kaiba's._

_Uhm. I hope Kisara doesn't come across as too dorkish in the last part. And otherwise. I think she might be a little sappy...  
_

_Comments? _


	3. Ein Augenblick in Tir–Na–Og

_What remains of __freedom, chapter three_

**AN:**

Chapter title means "A moment in Tir-Na-Og", Tir-Na-Og (or "Tir-Na-nÒg") being a mystic place in Irish mythology. It's the title of a chapter in a novel called "Die Suche Nach Deidre", by Frederik Hetmann, which is a retelling of the legend of Noisi and Deidre; it's the chapter in which the narrator, who's in love with Deidra, uses a charm to bring himself and Deidra to Tir-Na-Og for a moment, because he will be able confess his love there (doesn't exactly go as planned though).

I don't own YGO.

Thank you for the reviews!!

/AN

* * *

**Ein Augenblick in Tir-Na-Og**

_Mokuba on the floor, still unconscious, and the bet was won if only __he found out who it was he was fighting, because he would never ever let this go unpunished._

_The unspeakable victory in his voice when he called their dragon on the field, and she __hated__ the gleam of triumph in Bakura's eyes when the monster was destroyed, almost screamed with pain, but she shouldn't worry, he wasn't dependent on her, he would win, and –_

_And as concluded beforehand, the game wasn't finished. Figured he would cut it only after having destroyed one of the blue eyes white dragons._

_Strong __light that blinded Seto for a moment, so that Bakura could look at her, grinning._

"_The rest is up to you."_

_She acknowledged with a brief nod, and didn't answer._

_And then, he was gone._

K_aiba shielded his eyes. The thief had disappeared. He rushed over to Mokuba, of course. The boy was unharmed, as promised._

_He held the millennium eye in his hand._

_And it was tempting to try – try to remind him, to let the never-ending connection work in the other way, too, but once she had succeeded, it would be out of her control._

_But it had to be – it was his choice in the end. His choice to accept, to follow her, to fight. She could have magic help her to reach him, but never take influence over him, never control him.__ And she didn't wish to._

* * *

She was Kisara, and she was alive. She was Kisara, who had been chosen by the blue eyes white dragon, Kisara, who had been saved from enslavement by Seto, the future high priest, Kisara who had fought by his side and been killed in his arms. She was all this, had been all this for thousands of years, but she was more than all that all the sudden. She was also, and that had been trivial all this time and seemed not to be anymore, Kisara who had been born far from Egypt, who had been alive before she was chosen, who had played hide and seek with her only sister as a small child. 

And it was more than that. She was not anymore reduced to her past and her mission. She could forget even her name and have the dragon disappear and she would still be, she had back a present, there was the cold stone under her bare feet, the dim light of the torches, her own breath and the sound of footsteps from outside, and dusty air, and saliva in her mouth because she was hungry, and she was all that.

She had been young when she had died; but she was back. Back in that body of hers that she suddenly loved, and back in this dusty cell that seemed wonderful all the sudden, and she would be back to the sun as well and see, _see_ the sky.

And see and feel Egypt as it had been, not the land it had become, and Seto –

And Seto. Not a re-found past, not a moving puppet, not a memory. Seto, as he was, true, real, present, and she could face him.

It would be worth the sacrifice of her memory, the sacrifice of everything past.

* * *

Time was passing too fast; she could feel it in her members; the world, so simple otherwise unreal, accelerated; and yet too slowly: thoughts treacherous all the thief's fau- 

Real memory, oddly vivid, as if it had little difference to the reality in this world...

"_... and I call for my most powerful monster: the blue eyes white dragon!"_

He raises his head with pride, and his voice, his voice is full of triumph and savage joy, as if the true goal was not to win the duel but to manage to bring this single card to life!...

The dragon obeys his call and appears, majestic and impressive as always, seeming to shine in it's own light, proudly raising his head, a low, powerful roar escaping it's troth, staring at the opponent's monsters, awaiting the order to attack...

This one card, her card, her very soul which is once again called on the battle field as his shield.

_But he does not call for _you

He doesn't: he calls for the dragon who's finally free of her; Akunadin would have done the same.

But does he really? Has he always, every single time, and when he's hold the false card in his hands as a child, and when he's first hold the true one, and when he's first woken her from the stone panel after her death.

Has he ever been thinking of _her_?

The one who's conquered the sky and created an illusion image of her dragon in order to see it, and has a name that is not his own adores the white dragon, his power, his beauty, his uniqueness. He calls his name with all his soul. He's sacrificed a god for it, he would do it again. He's dreamed of it since he's a child...

The dragon is hers, is a part of her, her strength, her soul, and a painful rest of her consciousness. It is their three thousand years old bound he feels when he senses how deeply he's bound to this one monster; it is the mergence of their souls he accomplishes when he wakes the even stronger, three headed dragon.

And yet, she's less than the magical creature, she's only a frail human girl, and dead since centuries. She existed beyond the dragon, _without_ the dragon – if she was revived, would he walk passed...?

Even if he'd see the memory of the blue eyes white dragon inside her, even if he'd feel and see and remember, _even if he'd accept not to deny the existence of the past_ – knowingly chose deny it?

But had priest seen her?

He has refused to destroy her to get her power when he could have. He has spared her, chosen to protect her on the risk of his life and against his own father.

But he's too proud to rely on thievery or gifts: he would never – and Akunadin should have known – accept anything that has been stolen and offered to him.

But he's also saved her when he did not know her, he's always seen as his mission to protect and save, already as a child, and even more as a chosen priest...

He's held her in his arms when she was dead and pressed her body against his, when he knew he should leave her and continue to fight.

But what does this gesture for someone who has died for him mean, what is it in a world where death is so powerful and respected?

Did he ever care about _her_?

Has she wished him to? Even after the thief came to the prison she had accepted as he had chosen to keep her there?

She has, for years, childishly carried his image in her hearth, as he's disappearing in the dark while the horse carries her away, and murmured and dreamed his name. And she'd died for him...

Did that lead anywhere?

Is it all that connects her to the one he's become now, the one who's Seto and is not?

Often, she sees so little of Seto in him that she wonders who he is. Back in Egypt he had been fighting to protect his country and the pharaoh. He was loyal and faithful and strong.

Today, all his loyalty and his strength are given to a single person.

He's been searching for her.

She had willingly given herself to Seto.

But he, who is Seto and is not had to search for her; he has gathered together the cards that revived her when the stone tablets had since long become dust. He's killed and destroyed and blackmailed and done _anything_ to get them.

Would he have spared her, like Seto did?

Would the priest have done the same?

* * *

What time was it, which part of the battle? Where was the high priest, the pharaoh, the thief king? 

She was not worried: after all, Bakura had made this game, and he _had_ to let her meet Seto, if he came.

And he would come.

Still, she would have liked to know. She had been locked in here for many days, and back then, she hadn't felt so impatient – and she had not been isolated...

Would the thief king come and visit her, as he had in the real past? Would he take her with him so she could flee, like he –

Her head was spinning all the sudden, and she decided she couldn't wait. Couldn't allow herself to see the thief or – somehow – the past would –

But this wasn't the past. She could not still change everything, could not change _him_, because he was not the one –

Eyes like Akunadin. What had happened to him? What would have, had she followed his advice and ran?

She had to leave _before_ he came. Had to.

* * *

And she was Kisara, running through the dusty streets of Thebes barefooted, her long hair flying behind her, and never before had she felt as free. And the unbearable infinity before her immortal eyes, and the pain, and the bitterness, all gone, all sent to rest far in the back of her mind to be forgotten; she was Kisara running to meet _him_, running as the thief had told her to, and she would never know, and this conflict too was an immanent part of her. 

She was Kisara running without hast and without ever slowing down, a way she knew by heart this time, and there was the sand under her feet and the smells of a market place nearby which she could too, remember, and the bemused looks from people, and she was Kisara, running, _feeling_, fleeing, free.

But she had not expected it to be like this.

She was here only and alone because she had wanted to meet him. She had expected him here, it was her fault he was, so why – why did his presence here startle her that much?

She met him in a small side street. He was standing, one hand against a wall – what had happened to him? – dressed as always, most obviously not belonging here, not belonging anywhere but in his time.

Had a few hours back in this world been enough to make her part of it so completely?

He stopped to look at her. The light was dim, nicely so, the heath of the day being kept out, the voices from further away, the market place: they were alone, as if...

He stopped to look up at her, and she froze in place, and it suddenly hit her she had never really seen him, had been to close to him, part of him, and he, too, was Seto.

A look of realisation appeared on his face, and her heart skipped a beat at he looked at her for a long moment, through narrowed eyes, with concentrated attention, as if he was trying to figure out what he was being reminded of. An ancient memory, buried deep in the indistinct rests of events from early childhood – or like from a previous life, something a part of him he couldn't name was still remembering. And she knew him well enough to be certain that he hated the feeling, the incertitude it brought, but for that, she felt no guilt.

She didn't know how much time passed: they stood still, completely still, looking at each other.

Had she really come to find him, or did she want back the priest?

"You..." He paused, as if he still thought that maybe, he would be able to figure out without having to ask. "You are... the girl..."

Suddenly, she knew what he was talking about, even before he said it. She was the girl from the vision. Maybe it was all he knew, all he remembered in this moment. But she also knew that he had felt a strong connection to this girl, and wanted to know who she was ever since.

She was surprised to discover she was relieved instead of disappointed.

Demanding anything else had been foolish. She would not tell him who she really was, she decided. She would not overshadow his second life by _forcing_ him to accept the past.

But she had to steel him for the combat that lay ahead of him, and which he'd been forced to enter because of her. She had no doubt that he would help them. And while his past self was –

…

His past self. Seto.

_Gods!_

She _knew_ this moment. The strong string of ancient memory was going through her as well. She had lived this once already, had been in this street already, and the dim light had been exactly the same, the shape of the clouds had been exactly the same, the –

Bakura had not come: this was the moment during which she was fleeing, running to meet Seto, dying to save him.

And this time, she had stopped.

It was a trick. Bakura had never been interested in her memories.

How could she have been so naive?

He had offered her freedom, succeeded in granting it to her this time: she was no game piece. She was Kisara again, with all her memories, her life and her years of incomplete existence, and she could choose to stay and speak to Seto as she had wished to, she could return to her cell, she could flee – how far did this fake world extend? – and leave Egypt to its fate. She had a second choice: she could let the priest die.

The painful realisation that she had been betrayed was not enough to completely destroy the peace of the moment; in a first instinctive gesture to run which she had then stopped, she was now balancing on her toes. He'd be fine without her: he had all three remaining dragons; and he'd make the right choice: he had Mokuba.

With a last small smile, she rushed past him.

Running had felt freeing first; now, it was horrible. She wasn't used to it, wasn't used to having a body; small stones were digging into the skin of her feet palms, she could feel every step painfully run through her whole body; and she was lacking air.

Briefly, she wondered if Bakura, who controlled this place, was purposely cutting her off oxygen; but not more than last time, she had much room for thought.

She could see Seto appear, far beyond her, and ran faster.

It had been Akunadin, Seto's father, who had killed her. Akundin was the creator of the millennium items. She wasn't late: she would stop him this time as well, and hope that once dead for a second time, she would be allowed peace. Maybe she'd never truly been loyal to the priest.

Funny how years of non-existence as a pure spirit, with nothing but thoughts and feeling to ponder over, had not really made her come any farther than the first time.

Ending, the second.

* * *

Kaiba turned round and left the arena without a word. 

Bakura sighed and followed his example more slowly. A few spectators – most of those female – congratulated him for having put on such a good fight against Seto Kaiba; he walked past as fast as he could without being too impolite, and sighed in relief when he saw Anzu waving at him. Quickly, he went through the crowd – most of which had come to see Kaiba rather than him, since seeing the ancient world champion duel was a rare occurrence nowadays, and others who were just there because they were hoping to get the arena next – and finally made it to the others: Honda, Yugi and Anzu were waiting for him.

"You were good!" Yugi immediately declared.

They quickly left the crowded place (especially since Honda had spotted a journalist), and went to an a bit calmer part of Kaiba Land, which they found near a water-toboggan that, probably because of the rather cold weather, was pretty abandoned.

Jounouchi joined a moment later, carrying six hotdogs, and looking quite pleased when Bakura assured him he didn't want one.

"Sorry, I missed the ending of your duel," he apologised hastily, sounding a little nervous. "You lost?"

Bakura nodded with a small smile as Anzu muttered something about tact.

"I know the feeling," Jounouchi added friendly, while biting into two hotdogs at once.

"You _don't_ know feeling of coming close to beating Kaiba," Honda answered.

"He destroyed one Blue Eyes White Dragon," Yugi added.

"Hey, I did come that far once!" Jounouchi protested. "I even took it over once. You should have seen Kaiba's face when I did. He's crazy about that card."

There was a brief, a little uneasy silence, as they looked at Yugi: Atemu, and Yugi through him, had got a glimpse of what might be the reason for Kaiba's very close connection to the dragon, but he had explained that he couldn't tell them. It was something personal to Kaiba.

"Maybe you need new cards," Jounouchi added after a moment. "More strong monsters. I mean, you're still using..."

He trailed off. Yugi hid a laughter behind his hand; Jounouchi was still crepd out by Bakura's deck, and both Anzu and Honda had a certain understanding for it: they were the same cards the spirit had used. Even Yugi had another deck than Atemu.

"I'm used to them," Bakura said. "And I've strong enough monsters."

He flipped through his deck, showing them one of his cards with a proud smile. Jounouchi almost chook on his last bit of hotdog.

"You used this!? You said you wouldn't!"

The card showed a winged stone monster that ended in a long tail. Yugi had given him the card after they came back from Egypt, when Bakura's deck had turned out to be short of a few cards ("I probably lost them when I fell down the stairs," he had explained, sounding as if that was a frequent occurrence). They had never told Bakura the whole story. He had never asked, either.

Bakura shrugged.

"I needed my best cards against Kaiba."

"Yeah..." Jounouchi murmured, unconvinced, but vaguely feeling that, as a duellist, he should be agreeing with this statement. "Well, at least if he doesn't invite you to his next tournament, we'll know it's because he's afraid you might beat him next time."

Bakura just shrugged.

"I don't really think Kaiba will throw another tournament anytime soon," Yugi said.

"He'll want a chance to duel you aig... To duel you," Jounouchi argued.

"Maybe..." Yugi murmured doubtfully.

"I'll better be going," Bakura said, looking at his watch. "It took longer than I thought..."

However, when he reached the exit of the amusement park, he was stopped by Anzu, who came running after him.

"Bakura!"

He looked around unsurely.

"Anzu?"

"I – don't want you to be late for something because of me, but do you have two minutes?"

Ryou seemed to hesitate.

"Of course," he managed to say, his voice as polite as ever. "What's the matter?"

"I was just wondering... We've barely seen you lately."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I was very busy and..."

"It wasn't a reproach. I was just wondering if there was something wrong...?"

Ryou looked at her hesitantly, unsure if he just wanted to turn round and leave, as Kaiba had; without answering his questions. He'd probably never find out if the duel on the top of his building was a mere imagination, or an unclear memory that didn't quite belonged to him; and then again...

"I was in Egypt again."

"I didn't know." She hesitated as well. "Did you... go back to...?"

He nodded slowly.

"Sort of. The place crumbled down, you know. There was really nothing left. And Isis told me they would be gone anyway."

"They... The items? They _have_ to be..."

They couldn't even begin to imagine what would happen if there was any chance someone might get his hands on the rod alone again – for example.

"I know... It just feels weird." He paused, and glanced up at her timidly, before he suddenly remembered something: "Do you still miss him?"

He sounded hopeful; Anzu didn't answer right away, even though she _knew_ what she wanted to say, but she was not sure if she should speak it. The pain from the loss, and the anger about his departure had not yet vanished, and she wondered if they ever would. But whenever she tried to speak about it – Jounouchi and Honda didn't quite understand, and it would take some time before she would be ready to talk to Yugi.

"Yes," she said. "But I would not go back even if I could. It was his and Yugi's choice."

Ryou pressed his lips together,

"It..." He trailed off.

Anzu looked at him with worry, before she asked carefully:

"Do you miss him?"

Ryou blinked up at her, wondering what she meant; finally, seeming to decide he could trust her:

"I don't know, I – no. Of course not. That's no it... But he got a ceremonial duel and a goodbye and I – he just sheltered me all the time and left me with the wounds. And I don't even know what..."

Again, he trailed off, made a helpless gesture, not knowing himself what he wanted to add. There were a lot of things he didn't know; that didn't seem complete. Somehow, he had thought that maybe this duel with Kaiba would help.

Anzu managed to nod slowly. But this was how endings always were, unsatisfying and too abrupt, and always too soon. It was the other way that was the exception.

"I really should be going," Ryou finally said. "Do you think Kaiba will give up duelling?"

Anzu shook her head without needing to think.

"I doubt it."

They both managed to grin.

"I have a new rpg-scenario. Maybe you could come over on the week-end and try it...?"

She nodded again, still smiling.

"Sure. I'll tell the others."

_-Fin-_

* * *

I _finished_ something! Go me! Though, how sad is it that I had actually written _all_ of this before posting the first chapter, and it still took me that long to post the last one? Mostly, this is because I think that style-wise, this has been going downwards since chapter one, and I was hoping I would find a way to fix it. I'm not sure if I shouldn't have cut off Kisara's present tense Priest/Kaiba reflection altogether. 

I hope the part with Ryou and Anzu didn't seem too random: it has a purpose, but... I'm not sure how clearly it actually comes across.

Please review!


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